A portion of the roof still rests on solid beams; the rest has fallen in, and helped to choke up nave and chancel.
No one seems to care.
Starting the squirrels from their holes, the night birds from their nests, we pick our way from stone to stone.
A chapel stands near the gate, and a door within the chancel opens into a sacristy.
Some mural paintings still remain on wall and vault; such painted scrolls and pious messages as you read in village churches of Castille.
Angeles Y Santos la Bemos Aj Corozon di Jasvs
A door, now rotting into dust, conceals the sacristy.
Closed by a wooden peg, this door suggests that some poor soul still cares for the old place.
Yes, some one cares.
A Rumsen chief, old Capitan Carlos, comes in once a year, to smooth the falling stones and keep his memory of the church alive.
On pushing the door ajar, a ray of light, a rush of air, go with us into the sacristy.
The floor is mud. A broken table leans against the wall.
Above this tab